Guilty Conscience
by CuteMcBeauty
Summary: CS AU: Private investigators Emma Swan and her half-brother David Nolan are hired by Mr.Gold to follow his wife Milah.When she is found dead three weeks later, guilt forces Emma out of sleuthing. She sets up business across the street from a sailing supplies shop and meets Killian the blind, handsome owner of the place, not knowing they have one thing in common: Milah's death.
1. Prologue

"Morning! Venti mocha latte with whip and cinnamon, two percent milk and double shot of espresso, and a cranberry muffin, hot, to go, please." The tall, blond woman says as she runs her app code through the scanner.

"Your name, please?" Replies a friendly barista, black sharpie and large paper cup in hand.

She looks up at the girl from her phone app and grins. "Emma."

The girl smiles back, "Ok Emma, you'll get your drink at the end of the bar, please. Have a great day!"

"You too, Sharon."

Emma always made a point of looking at name tags; her mentor Cleo Fox told her to always, always look at a person's name tag, even when not in the line of duty. Mainly, for two reasons: One, it always gives working people a sense of importance and pride in their work if you actually do call them by their names and smile, brightening an otherwise stressful rush hour at least to some extent. And two, because in the event of a pursuit, one always has an advantage when the perp or subject has his or her name attached to their chest;, it had landed private eye Emma Swan more than a few good paychecks.

This time, however, the person in question was not friendly, curly haired, freckle-faced barista Sharon, but another customer at the coffee bar. A tall, slender woman, with a handsome kind of beauty; tons of hair that dangled in seamless curls down her back, blue eyes that seemed to gaze into everything and nothing at the same time, looking and deep-set in a long and slender, pale oval face. Her name was Milah Gold. From what Emma had seen in previous days of the hunt, she had an apparent strength of character, the kind that comes from deep within, and an all-around aura of freedom and adventure; the kind of person that would likely knock anyone down through sheer use of her personality. Milah sits at a sofa, some six meters away from the bar, searching in her somewhat flower-power-y brown suede handbag, and produces what seemed to be a trashy romance paperback. Emma discreetly shuffles over to the meeting table, her eyes fixed on the phone and the lens of the camera fixed on the mysterious dark woman. To everyone else, she just looks like a regular, browsing her mobile while enjoying coffee when, in fact, her commission is to register every move of Milah's, her whereabouts, who she speaks to, where she goes, what she does. Everything.

"Whatcha got there, Milah?" Emma mumbles to herself with a grin as she zooms into the book in the woman's hands, and grimaces with a hiss. "Sssss…. The Arms of Untamed Desire?" She chuckles softly. "That's… cheesy." Snap, picture, snap-snap. "I kinda had you pinned for, I dunno, Allen Ginsberg, or something." Snap-snap.

Milah's attention is suddenly drawn to her handbag. She ruffles through her bag's contents and produces a phone; after one look at the caller's ID, a huge smile crosses her face and she happily takes the phone to her ear; her entire attitude changes immediately: She twirls her hair, she pouts, she grins.

"Yyyyyup…" Emma smiles, snapping more and more photos. "That's what I'm talking about, baby, bring mama's wages home."

She makes a brief pause in her photo shoot to call back to her older half-brother and partner, David Nolan, a former cop and her best friend in every single way that counts. "Hello? Hi, Dave… yeah, I'm looking at her right now. She's on the phone. I need a phone record, I believe she's in Verizon? Ok…. Well, because she's kinda… flirting. No, no, she's TOTALLY flirting, she's totally talking to some guy or girl, I dunno, but it's sexual, that's for sure. What'ya mean? Because her entire body language screams 'I'm getting laid with this person', that's why!... Ok… ok, let me know when you find something. Thanks. Ok see you soon, bye…"

Emma hangs up and keeps looking at Milah through her phone.

Dave Nolan goes through the database and system and checks Milah Gold's phone line; he and Emma make a hell of a spying team, so good that sometimes he wonders if they should be working for the CIA.

"Ok Milah, what have you got?" He squints and goes through her calls of the day. "Ok, here we go." He sits up suddenly and jots down. "Active call, to one…. Killian Jones. Well, well, well!" He grins. "If Emma's right about you Milah, I think Mr. Gold will have a thing or two to say about this little secret, huh…"

Immediately, David turns his search over to find out about that Killian Jones. "Let's see… who are you, buddy? _Killian Jones, 34, sailing and navigation store owner in downtown Manhattan, has a shop called "The Jolly Roger"_ … Original." He giggles. "A pirate wannabe. Ok. Hmmm… _Former Olympic medal winner in double Olympic dinghy sailing for England with brother and teammate Liam Jones, winning gold in Athens 2004 and Beijing 2008 and silver under the singles category in London 2012._ " David whistles and shakes his head in awe. "Olympian guy, are you? Let's see what you look like, Killian…" As he clicks and a smiling picture of Killian Jones emerges, Dave raises his eyebrows. "Well! No problem in the looks department I see. So, you're another rich, handsome English playboy yuppie… no wonder Mila'h got the hots for you… Ok what else is there?" He reads on. " _Now retired from active sport due to a handicap that came as consequence of an accident during the London 2012 Olympics during the doubles, Killian lives quietly in New York city_ … Oh? what happened to you, Killian? _Killian Jones and his brother Liam Jones were sailing in competition when the rigging of their double- handed monohull dinghy broke, breaking the rudder loose; the vessel capsized and collided with the Greek dinghy that hit them head on at a speed of sixty two knots, which translates to an estimate 70-75 miles per hour._ Whew…" Dave shook his head. " _The accident claimed the life of Liam Jones at 33, making it the third double-dinghy race death in an Olympic competition in history; the younger Killian Jones lost his left hand and received a blow to the head; to this day, Killian Jones is_ …" David gulped and sat back. "… _blind…_ oh god _… as a result of severe occipital head trauma…_ " David shakes his head, guilt suddenly washing over him. " _The gold medal was won by Australian team Malcom Page and Matthew Belcher_." David runs a hand down his face and stops to cover his mouth with a sigh. "What a rough deal…"

Emma Swan receives an e-mail with all of Dave's findings just as Milah stands up and leaves the café. She reads his findings and sneers. "Her hairdresser? Are you fucking kidding me?" She grunts and she immediately calls Dave as she makes her way out in pursuit of Milah. "Dave? What the hell is this? There's NO WAY she could have been calling her hairdresser, man, come on! She was totally-"

"Emma, that's all I found. Call was made exactly 2.5 minutes ago to Jean Baptiste's Hair Studio on Madison and 63rd. "

Emma huffs. "Well, something's off; She doesn't strike me as the fancy hair studio type, she's more of a… rock n' roll, hippie-drippy kind of gal, that place is kind of… high class." She opens the door to her yellow Volkswagen 1985 Beetle and gets behind the wheel as Milah flashes down a cab. "Unless she's on to us and wants to throw us off?"

"That's unlikely, Emma. Just… follow her, see where she takes you to."

"Ok… you try to hack her phone, see if we can check into her Facebook profile or something. I dunno, Dave…" Emma sighs. "Sounds to me like this girl's got an ace up her sleeve and is just playing her husband like an old fiddle."

"Old is the key word, sis."

"That's not our problem; we're paid to follow her and have a solid amount of evidence for his divorce claim, not to judge them on their marital age difference."

She hangs up.

Dave puts the phone down and once again looks at the YouTube video of the handsome, then 21 year old English athlete, standing on a 1st place podium next to an equally handsome Liam Jones, both smiling and waving to the crowd after the sound of God Save the Queen fills the waves and a loud roar of resounding victory takes over.

"Gotta draw the line somewhere…" He sighs.

He knows he's lying to Emma; he knows she might eventually find out and that she will be livid. But he also knows that whether he knows him or not, he does not want to mess with the life of Killian Jones. Not after what he learned what he now knows about the guy.

Even a private dec sometimes needs to respect the privacy of others.

When he gets a call from Emma not twenty minutes later, telling him Milah just entered some sailboat and maritime store, David gulps, but all is well when, an hour later, she emerges from the shop with a large canopy bag with the shop logo on it. "Do we know if the Golds are into sailing?" She asks Dave.

"We know that she is. She has a Catamaran off the coast of Cancun."

"Ok that explains it." She sighs as she once again starts her car. "Guess they can afford it…"

"You mean, SHE can afford it…" Dave rummages through the open file on his desk. "She is stupid rich, comes from a wealthy family of art dealers with a murky reputation for piracy, and Gold pretty much married into good money. So she's the one with the bucks."

Emma nodded. "Do we have reason to suspect Gold wants to divorce her and somehow make allegations that she was unfaithful to pocket some of that money?"

"This is New York, Emma, I wouldn't doubt it." He huffed and looked at the wedding image of Robert and Milah Gold. "Still… I can't for the life of me understand why she'd want to marry this guy."

"Love?"

"Certainly not looks and power…" He chuckled. "Just seems a bit off how this super rich mob daughter somehow ties the knot to a middle class guy twice her age, these people usually like to keep the gold in the family… no pun intended."

"Well, whatever it is, he's the one paying for our services. Let's find out what she's up to."

David sighs hard.

"Emma, aren't you hungry?"

"What?"

"Come back to the office Em. I'll get some grilled cheese."

"Are you nuts? We have a hot target here, why would you-"

"Let it go for a while, sis, we have all we need for the next few hours, we can pick this up tomorrow. Come on." He grins. "What would Cleo say right now?"

Emma heaves. "The better hunter is the one with less leftovers on her plate…"

"Atta girl."

"Fine." She moans. "You'd better have those grilled cheese sandwiches steaming hot and with onion rings, or you will be the next guy to meet with Jimmy Hoffa." She hangs up and looks on as Milah takes another taxi and disappears down the street. Emma knows better than to leave a hot trail on the loose, but she can also hear her stomach growl just as she swivels out of the curb to the street.

When they hand Robert Gold all their findings a week and a half later, they receive a fat paycheck for just over 35 k for their sleuthing services.

It takes a month for them find out about Socialite Milah Gold washing up beaten and strangled to death on the Hudson bay, not long after they received their pay. And while Emma can't shake the image of a vibrant, happy woman with long black wavy hair and piercing blue eyes enjoying a romance novel from her guilty conscience, Dave knows that this death might have been prevented… had Emma known about Killian Jones. In fact, Dave is sure that Gold is directly responsible.

Best left untouched now, he figures. At least he hopes the cops won't come banging on their business door, or he will have to come clean about his findings, incriminate a man who obviously strives to be left alone, and incur in Emma's wrath.

Best left alone.

Emma, however, has had enough; She sets up a private business, a flower shop, just across the street from that sailing articles business The Jolly Roger on Central Park West. A few days before she's open for business, she sees a young, somewhat handsome blind man with sunglasses lock down at six and walk away with the aid of a big black dog.

Next day, she arrives early. Too early. Not because, you know, sailors are up early and need to find their stores open for supplies; also not because she waits to see the handsome blind guy arrive, coffee in his right hand and red dog leash in what looks to be a prosthetic left hand, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Not because he's kinda cute to look at. No.

It's just for… reasons. New business. Setting up shop and shit.

Maybe in one week, when "Swan's Flower Lake" opens for business, she might, maybe, just stroll over there to invite him to the opening.


	2. Meet

**THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! I'M GONNA KEEP THIS ONE SHORT, DON'T WANNA MAKE ANOTHER HUGE HIDEOUS MULTI-CHAPTER!**

There was a lazy feel to that chilly Monday morning. Killian Jones huffed as the distinctive smell of new boating supplies (that fresh batch of fogging oil tins that had been delivered two nights before) invaded his now over-sensitive nostrils. The sound of the bell over the door sounded as he stepped in and turned his sign to "Open". His dog Smee sneezed in complaint of the strong oily stench as he led his master down his routinely hallway.

"Good boy, Smee…" Killian smiled, petting his friendly black lab guide dog as he released him from his harness, and reaching for his long, aluminum stick, the loyal cane that served him as a guide through his store. Smee curled up on his bed under the counter with a satisfied doggie huff.

"Right let's see…" Killian walked up to the place where the delivery had been left the previous Saturday night. He placed his stick down and fumbled his one hand over the sealed boxes, finally settling over a single one and pulling the duct tape off to have a feel of the contents. "Like I cfould see…" He chuckled and proceeded to count. "One, two…bsbsbsbsbsssss.. twenty." Pulling one out, he felt for leaks and bumps. "Nice. At least they did send the right stuff this time and not break fluid, eh Smee?"

He placed the tin back in the box and closed the lid, reaching for his cane and heading back to his desk counter. He then sat and rolled over to where he kept his accounting and inventory books. Opening up the inventory for the current month, he ran his eager fingers over the pages. "March, April… May, June… here we go, June 19th…." He pulled the sheet out and hummed as he inserted it into his Brailler, rolling the page on the pin and typing in. "Right… that's two boxes of Gold Eagle fogging oil… 12 oz… twenty cans a-piece. Right." He removed the page and carefully placed it back in the inventory.

The bell sounded over the door. "Hello, Killian?"

"Morning, Henry!" Killian replied with a friendly smile. "Just in time m'boy. Need a hand with the boxes over there in the corner, take them to the warehouse upstairs. Just please leave some seven cans out on display, lad."

"Got it." Henry Mills huffed as he removed his scarf and walked past the counter to hang his jacket in the back room. Smee whimpered and wagged his tail from his spot on the floor, and Henry corresponded with a quick "Hi boy!" and a pat on the head before the friendly pooch settled back down.

Henry was the adopted teenage son of Regina Mills. While he was no friends with the woman, he owed her pretty much his livelihood. After he had a boating accident, it had been her who had sponsored him as an immigrant in the USA, since she had been close friend to his brother, Liam. She had asked him as a special favor if Henry could work with him during summer and after school days, pretty much doing anything to assist the handicapped Killian with the store. While the stern and serious Regina could be a bit of a pain in the ass, Henry was all Killian could ever wish for if he ever had a son. The boy was kind, hard-working, friendly and open, and Killian trusted him with the store. Having Henry around was of great help.

The bell rang again just as Henry tried to carry off the first box up into the second floor warehouse. Killian felt the boy hesitate. "It's alright lad, I got this, you get that merchandise up there out of the way, I don't want that clutter around the entrance any longer…"

As the boy headed up to the wooden steps that led to the first floor over the store, Killian turned his face around in the direction of the footsteps. Killian and Smee both perceived a different thing from the person that approached the counter. The smell made Smee hold his head up and growl, while Killian's ears distinctly heard the sound of the footsteps: The person who had just entered had either three feet, or was aided by a cane.

Killian reached down and touched Smee reassuringly, and while the dog stopped growling at the stranger, his big brown eyes were still fixed on the small, eerie figure of a little man in a long winter jacket and longish hair dangling on either side of his face.

Killian shivered. Probably the draft that entered the store as the man let himself in.

"Yes, c… can I help you?" Killian asked, prosthetic hand on the counter and his good hand gingerly touching a little rounders bat he kept under the cabinet, out of sight.

"Indeed." The man replied. "Are you… Killian Jones?"

"I am."

"Oh, good. Then you are the man I've been looking for." The man reached into his jacket, his eyes fiercely fixed on Killian. Just as Henry came down, the stranger's gaze was drawn to the boy. He continued perusing through his inner pocket and placed a strip of paper on the counter top. "I was told you own the most complete sailing supply business on this side of town…" He spoke with a distinct Scot twang. "I need some things for a vessel I own. Might you be able to help me?"

Killian moved his hand away from the bat and huffed through a smile. "I'll do my best, sir. What might you be in search of? What sort of vessel do you own?"

"That's irrelevant for my particular needs this time round. " He snapped back. "My anchor winch burned and jammed the rope, it broke and I lost my anchor. I do not know if I should have it repaired or if I should just altogether purchase a new one."

Killian frowned and scratched the back of his head. "Aye, well… I do need to know they type of vessel for that, I'm afraid, so I can best recommend you a …"

"It's a Gemini Legacy."

Killian's smile disappeared from his lips.

"Is anything the matter, Mr. Jones?" The man asked coldly.

Killian licked his lower lip. "N… no. I just knew someone some time ago who owned one."

"Aye, indeed, it's a popular choice for a vessel."

Killian nodded silently. "Aye… very well… if that is what you're after, then you need an internal power winch. I take it you lost your anchor too?"

"Yes."

"So how are you marooning the ship?"

"She's dock-tied. But I don't trust the climate much for her to remain so, you may understand."

"Aye, good point. Well…" Killian turned and reached for his Braille supplier's book and leafed through. "I believe that the winch best suited for your particular need is either a hand powered winch, which I do have in supply, or an outdoor power winch. Since it's a light vessel I'd say the Trac outdoor winch, but that I need to order with a down payment of 50%."

"Does it come with a chain?"

"Quarter inch anchor rope. Braided nylon. Far better for a Catamaran, mate."

"And how about anchors?"

"Well, Catamarans are very light and thus have quite the pull when down-winded, so I'd recommend a heavy but small anchor…" He changed the books and ran his hand down the bumpy paper. "Aye… We have one Mantus, 25 lbs, galvanized steel."

"Is there any better?"

Killian shook his head. "Best in the market. I also have a Fortress Guardian, bit less expensive, different materials, but… it'll get the job done for sure."

"I think I'll take the first you mentioned."

"Splendid!" Killian smiled and closed his book. "Are you good on anchor shackles?"

"Yes, those are still in place."

"So…" Killian shrugged. "Shall I place the order for the winch, or…"

"Aye, do that. Just…" He produced his wallet. "…be sure the winch gets here as soon as possible. I'll pay upfront. Just tell me when I can come collect my winch."

"Henry?" Killian called.

The boy rushed to the front desk from the back, dusting his hands. "Yeah?"

"Can you handle the 25 lb Mantus, or should I lend the one hand I've got?"

Henry chuckled. "No, I got it. Anything else?"

The man looked up coldly and smiled. "Yes. I need a dry storage block, please…"

"Ah well, we have those well in supply! Henry why don't you take the gentleman to the back, show him what we got?"

"Y… Yeah. Come this way sir." The man gave Killian one last cold gaze and followed Henry down a passage.

Killian sighed and once again produced his inventory, looking for the anchor he had just sold. Once he found it, he carefully removed the page and used a puncher to punch a hole and indentify it as a sold product. "Last one. Lucky sale, Jones…" He shook his head, a certain sadness overcoming him as he placed the page back and proceeded to type in his machine that he needed to order anchors again as a reminder.

The door clinked again and Killian frowned under his glasses. Sure, he did well, and he always made at least one good sale per day, but two clients in less than an hour was odd. He raised his face in the general direction of the door as Henry came back with the eerie man and a large orange dry box.

Killian's nostrils picked up perfume.

"Ok, so…" He drew his attention back to the actual paying customer and his hand reached for a Braille coded desk calculator. "That's 218 for the anchor…" he reached out and touched the box as the machine made a noisy paper print. "An Atwood boater's box, that's 20, and the Trac power winch, 300, that'll be…" He touched the little piece of paper produced by his calculator. "538. Will you pay upfront or…"

"I told you I'd liquidate. I've no interest in doing business halfways."

"Certainly. What will your payment method be, Mr…?"

"Errr… Roberts. Cash, please."

"C…c ash?" Henry sneered.

"Is there a problem?"

Both Henry and Killian paused; it was unusual for a client to be carrying that kind of money around, especially when he wasn't exactly sure what he was out to buy. "N..no, not at all, Mr. Roberts. Cash will do fine. Henry, please, the anchor..?"

"Y… yeah, sure, I'm on it."

The boy ran upstairs and Killian was able to hear the steps and dragging sounds of the boy over his head. He could also hear the subtle graze of dollars being counted; and he could hear female steps sort of browsing around the front part of the shop.

When Henry produced the anchor, Killian turned back to his client. "Will you be needing help with that, Mr. Roberts?"

"Why would you think I…"

"Cane. I may be blind but I've got one hell of an ear." He smiled.

The man leered and smiled wickedly. "Seems one handicapped man knows another."

"Aye. Well, I will call you, Mr. Roberts, as soon as your winch is here…"

"Oh, no need…" The man smiled coldly. "I know where to find you."

Henry carried the anchor for Mr. Roberts, who passed behind a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a white wool sweater, jeans and boots, blond hair dangling down over her shoulders.

Smee raised his head again and whimpered, and Killian finally addressed his attention to the woman in the store. "Good morning mam. How can I be of service?"

She finally turned around and grinned. "Oh, hi…." She walked to him. "My name is Emma, Emma Swan?"

He sensed the entire aura that surrounded this Emma girl as she walked closer to him; her perfume was sweet and intoxicating and as Soon as Killian heard a couple of thumps stemming from Smee's wagging tail, he too smiled. "Hello Miss Swan. Can I help you?"

Emma studied his face. He was not just cute. He was just jaw dropping gorgeous.

"Oh… erhm. Yeah. Hi. I mean, I…" she shook her head. "I just wanted to introduce myself? I bought the place across the street and…"

"Lillies…"

"Huh?"

"The new flower place?" He chuckled. "Last week it was paint, then it was lilies.""Oh…" She laughed. "Wow! That's pretty… perceptive!"

He chuckled back. "And my hearing is even better. "He held his hand out. "Killian Jones."

Emma grinned and reached for his hand. "Nice to meet you, Killian. Listen, I'm going to have an opening party tomorrow morning, I… was wondering if… well if you…?"

Wow… rough hands.

"Oh… I'm afraid I can't do it, lass, I've no help tomorrow all morning, the boy is back in school and I have to keep shop." He shrugged. "But I can drop by for a bit at lunch time. I close shop between noon and three. Will that do?"

Emma shook her head with a smile. "Oh yeah, sure! That will be great, Killian."

"Grilled cheese."

She frowned. "Wh… what?"

"You had it for breakfast. I can order some for tomorrow as well, if you like."

"Holy shit you really do have a keen sense of smell!" She laughed. "That won't be necessary, Killian, there will be some leftovers from the morning."

Killian could feel himself reel. This was ridiculous. He didn't even know what this woman looked like. Sure, her perfume had two notes of gardenia and maybe three of west African lilacs and her voice sounded like a choir of angels, but it made no sense that he could feel the entire ground beneath his feet turn into a huge gaping hole.

"Err… Miss Swan? I'm sorry, I… don't wish to be forward, but…" He wiggled his hand. "I've only got five eyes. You mind if I… see what you look like?"

Emma frowned and looked at him from the side of her eyes.

"He wants to touch your face." Henry grinned from behind her, making her jump. "That's how he sees what people look like."

"Oh, erhm… ok. Yeah, sure!"

Killian's ears turned pink as he grinned and reached for the face of the woman before him. His fingertips touched the gentle contours of Emma's face and his mind's eye translated what he was seeing with his fingers: cheekbones, perfect lips, a small nose a contoured jaw and hair that seemed to run endlessly. He exhaled with a grin as he withdrew his hand. "A pleasure… Emma."

"All mine."

"Ahem…"

"Oh, apologies, lad." Killian laughed. "This is Henry, he is the son of… well, sort of a friend of my late brother's and he makes his income by helping me out here."

"Yeah. My mom is not the allowance giving kind of mom." Henry wrinkled his nose. He held his hand out.

Emma smiled broadly as she shook his hand. "I hear you there, kid. I grew up pretty much making my own income."

"Strict parents?"

"More like… no parents."

Henry hissed. Killian huffed and turned his blind gaze over to Henry and suddenly removed his glasses. "You put your foot in it mate, you owe the lady an apology, I think."

"Oh, no no, it's ok!" She held her hand up and managed to catch a glimpse of Killian's eyes. She had expected the eyes of a blind man, a pearly, opaque grey. Instead she was met with the most beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes she had ever seen, framed by tons of long, black lashes. They seemed to move a bit erratically, but also seemed to react to light, dilating and contracting. She cleared her throat and Killian's eyes rolled over to the area right next to her face. "I mean… It's ok, he didn't know, and I'm not one to make a big fuss over it, so it's cool. Hey, Henry, maybe after school and once you're done with your job here, you might wanna come over to the shop?"

"Nah; My mother might have a stroke if I don't immediately go home and do my homework." He shrugged. "But thanks."

"Don't mention it. So…" she looked back to Killian. "How about you, then, Killian? Three-ish?"

He gave her a blinking, bumbling grin. "Three-ish it is."

"Okay then. Till tomorrow." After an awkward chuckle, Emma turned around and made her way out after saying quick "Bye, kid." to Henry.

Killian's sightless gaze remained fixed in the general direction of the door. "She smells like the dawn… whew…" He rolled his face to Henry, "Is she as lovely as I think she is?" He whispered.

"Captain…" Henry giggled. "You are in for a treat. She is gorgeous."

"Brunette?"

"Blond."

"Eyes?"

"Green. No contacts. Light makeup. Wooly sweater in white and jeans and boots. And… she likes you."

"How would you know?"

"She was blushing. And so were you. If I didn't know any better…"

Killian blushed hard again and smiled. "All right, that's enough of you. Come now, help out with inventory please, I need dictation."

 **K &E**

"You brazen hussy!" David told her over the phone. "Did you just… literally go over there and openly… like…?"

"Come on, I just invited him to the opening, I didn't exactly give him a private display of the whole Victoria's Secret catalogue!" she chewed on her bear claw over the phone. "It's not like… he even saw me or anything."

"So… he really IS blind."

"As a bat. But he's still cute. By the way, how are things with you, bro? Mary Margaret?"

"Mind your own business."

"Hey! Rude!" She frowned as she changed the phone to the other side of her ear. "Besides, you go around prying and I can't even ask?"

"It's the duty of every big brother."

"Shut up."

"It's good. She's coming with me to your opening tomorrow."

"So I finally get to meet this Snow White of yours."

"Don't you DARE tell her I ever said that."

"Oh why not?" She laughed. "Believe me, ANY woman would love to hear a guy she's interested in thinks she's as beautiful as a fairy tale princess!"

"Emma, you won't."

"Pfff you are a drag, Prince Charming."

David huffed, and looked back to the previous months. "Emma, be careful, ok?"

Emma laughed aloud, mouthful of dough. "What, like a dorky blind guy who runs a sailing supply shop is going to hurt me? Who do you think he is, Daredevil?"

"No, I mean… well, I…"

"Oh stop, you're being ridiculous."

"Come on Emma, think this through! Do you even know who the guy is? Like, what is his background?"

Emma took another bite of her bear claw and rolled over on her bed to her lap top. "God you are… Fine! I suppose I could Google his ass if that makes you feel any better..."

"DON'T!"

"What the…?"

"Ok, sorry, Emma, look… I mean, yeah, ok, I know that a fresh start away from all that happened maybe involves not really digging up dirt from people's pasts and going on a little faith, so… you're right. Don't do it. Just… let things unfold."

"See? That's what I'm talking about! A little faith!" She closed her lap top. "Ok I'm out of here, my show's about to begin."

"Ok sis. Love you. See you tomorrow."

"K, bye!"

David huffed and ran his hand through his hair. He looked up from his desk to the mirror on the wall. "Killian Fucking Jones. See David, that's Karma for being such a lying asshole…"

Emma fiddled with her remote control as she watched her show, and smiled mischievously. "I am TOTALLY telling her that she's Snow White."


	3. Introductions

**SMALL WARNING: BIT OF ANTI-NEAL RANT SOMEWHERE IN HERE, IN CASE YOU LOVE AND ADORE SWANFIRE THIS IS COMPLETELY NOT THE EP FOR YOU, OR MAYBE YOU CAN SKIP THAT BIT. JUST THOUGHT I'D LET YOU ALL KNOW. THANKS FOR READING /REVIEWING /FAV'ING AND FOLLOWING, IT MEANS A LOT TO ME :D**

The truck arrived early that morning with the final batch of flowers: marigolds, carnations, gladioli, sunflowers, lilac and massive white lilies. The previous evening the shipment had brought in a cartload of beautiful white and pink orchids, carefully bred and ornamentally decorated for sunlit surfaces. Roses took the corner behind the glass door, all colors of the rainbow, and the red flash of the peonies shone a huge greeting to anyone walking past. Some adorable planted African violets and miniature daisies crowned some of the isles inside, sitting on octagonal, white painted classic wooden tables, surrounding buckets containing freesias, gerberas, and tall, elegant sticks of highly aromatic cherry blossom. The smell of freshly cut herbs, earth and the perfume of the flowers were alluring and that morning alone, at least thirty people went in to see ""Swan's Flower Lake".

Behind the checkout counter, a tall wall of supplies looked down on the people: fertilizer, shovels, garden hoses, seeds, even a garden gnome on top of the counter, all looking at the people who curiously stepped in for a peep. Some looked on, some sneezed, but each and every one of them smiled, for what could be friendlier than a flower shop?

Emma wore a short, neat cream colored knitted dress that day and beige cowboy boots, her hair in a tight pony tail, a softer side to the usual skinny jeans and leather jackets. This day called for the occasion. Her very first flower place, a far cry from the edgy, intricate world of spying on people. Flowers were gentle, feminine, friendly and easy to sell, no one could say no to or sneer at the sight of a colorful flower arrangement. Emma needed some color in her life.

"So… I don't… get it." Mary Margaret Blanchard, David's date, spoke with a confused scorn as the conversation rolled along, "You're brother and sister, but Emma, you had no… parents?" She gasped and covered her own mouth immediately. "I did NOT just say that."

"It's a convoluted tale, sweetheart." David nodded and took a sip from his cherry soda. "And she DOES have a parent. My dad. Or did."

Emma grinned. "We… share a dad. But not the same mom. His mom and our dad were kinda falling apart, and he went out with MY mom for a few weeks and…"

"He knocked her up." David completed.

"He knocked her up, yeah… and then he and HIS mom made peace again and went back together and he left MY mom because he had no idea she was pregnant with me, and MY mom couldn't handle it and she gave me up and…"

"And I had no idea I had a baby sister…"

"Till one day I grew up to be a nosey teenager who wanted to know where the hell she came from, and I challenged the system by one day using the computer in the home's headmaster's office at night…"

"…AND her credit card…"

"Yeah, thanks bro, AND her credit card, to figure out who had given me up, so… I ran away and tried to find my mom, but she was…" Emma sighed. "Well, dead. Drank one too many one day and crashed."

"Oh my god." Mary Margaret said, wide eyed, her mouth still behind her fingers.

"Yeah. I was a bit off my rocker at around that time, got myself into trouble, met the wrong guy, got pregnant, had a baby in jail…" She looked down and pressed her lips hard and shook her head. "I made sure that kid was handed in for good adoption." She gulped and swallowed tears before she continued with a smile. "Got out of jail, stole a car, tried to make a life for myself, but I was flagged, so it was practically impossible."

Mary Margaret was looking terrified.

"Oh no, the story has a happy end, I promise!" Emma stopped with a smile. "Since my mom's apartment was just sitting there empty, I kind of… started living there, unannounced. I'd leave early in the morning and come back only after night had fallen, using the fire staircase. But there was a woman who lived there, where my mom used to live. Her landlady. She was nice. When she knew I was kind of crashing at my mom's pad, she offered me to stay there, for free. And finally after about a year of begging, she told me my mom's story, didn't turn me in. She told me about this guy that my mom had dated and how she was devastated after giving me up and that she had left a letter for me if I ever went looking, so…" She grinned. " In that She told me my dad's name was David Nolan… and he and his wife had a family and a son also called David…"

"Emma came in at a very awkward time. I was just about to leave for college." David shrugged. "But I was a twin whose brother had died at a younger age and I desperately wanted a sibling, so I was the one who kind of made my mom bite the bullet. " David chuckled. "Emma stayed."

"She hated me, but was at least kind to me." Emma shrugged.

Mary Margaret was stupefied. "And your father?" She shrugged. "I mean, you're still Swan, how come you didn't become Nolan once you were adopted?"

"Well, I wasn't adopted." She sighed. "Or… yeah, I was, when I was about three. By John and Kelly Swan. But they sent me back to the group home when they managed to conceive a baby of their own. My dad took me in, but we never did the whole… you know, official thing. I was already over eighteen by then, so… Besides, changing your name is a huge pain in the butt, bureocratically speaking."

"Well, at least you got yo meet your real dad… and he accepted you." Mary grinned, trying hard to find something kind to say to break the awkwardness.

" Yeah, he did. We had a chance to bond before…" She shrugged.

David sighed. "That's when that happened."

"Oh the accident you told me about?"

"Yep."

There was another awkward silence and Emma reached out for Mary Margaret's hand. "Have I spooked you away from my brother's life? Seriously, we might be unconventional but I swear he's a good guy. Please don't stop talking to him, he's fine."

Mary Margaret laughed. "No, no, nothing like that, it's just that… Oh Emma, it must have been so tough."

Emma grinned and nodded, her gaze on the floor. "Well… yeah. It wasn't a walk in the park. But I was one of the lucky ones. So many kids in that group home never, ever find a home. My son found a family. I found my family. And here's the guy!" She smiled and hugged David, who hugged her back. "That's what it's all about. Finding one another and giving each other our best chance."

Dave kissed Emma's head. "She fails to mention that I was immediately intrigued by her skill. She's three years younger than me and she is way better at finding people. She taught me everything I know."

"It was my thing." She shrugged. "But I'm done chasing people. I think I can get used to this… flower thing, instead. Far more peaceful."

Mary Margaret smiled. "As long as you don't develop an allergy. My step-mother is highly allergic to these things; if you gave her a bouquet of red roses for her birthday, she would probably take the whole thing and throw it at you."

"Friendly lady." Emma laughed.

"You have NO idea." Mary Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me, miss?" A lady tapped on Emma's shoulder. "Do you do delivery services?"

"Yes, of course! I'll be right with you." Emma turned to her guests, "Duty calls, guys. Enjoy the hors d'oeurves." She trailed after the woman to the counter and showed her a catalogue with different arrangements.

Mary Margaret huffed, wide-eyed. "Wow."

"Yeah, she has quite the story." David nodded."But she's a great person, you'll get to know her."

She turned to him. "So, uhm, I didn't want to pry any more, David, but… how did she end up in jail?"

He shook his head and sighed. "She was seventeen, running away and trying to make ends meet. She met this guy, riff-raff, called Neal. He kinda helped her along until he found it irresistible to sleep with her."

"What? Oh, my god, he didn't… Did he…?"

"No no, it was consensual, but still, he was at least five years her senior and…" he pressed his lips tight. "She was still a minor. He then promised her they'd move away to Tallahassee and have a life together and then, well..." He shrugged. "He had a batch of stolen watches. Expensive stuff. He was supposedly gonna pawn them and that money was for their life together. He gave her one for her to keep. In the end he was busted by one of the people he stole from, and ratted Emma out as an accomplice so he could run. Emma had one watch and she took the fall. By the time she was being read her rights the guy was already in Canada." David flushed red. "Then she found out she was pregnant in jail."

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Oh god. Poor girl." She looked up into his eyes. "To have to give your own baby away…"

"Yeah, she won't admit it but I know that that's something that will haunt her forever."

"Well, time's gone by, why doesn't she go looking for him?"

David sighed. "She feels it wouldn't be ok to disrupt his life now, or that of his adoptive parents. I know she would actually love to see the kid, but she feels it would be unfair at this point in life to just show up unannounced and say, 'Hey, remember me? I'm the woman who carried you for nine months but then chose to give you away, how you doin', kid? By the way, you were born in jail!' She feels it's better to just leave things alone and hopes that maybe one day, the boy might come looking for her."

Mary Margaret sighed and shook her head. "She's pretty tough."

"Yeah, it takes her a while to let people in, that's for sure." Dave agreed. "But trust me; Emma's got a heart of 's agiver, she's loyal and she will love you to the grave once she lets you in."

Mary Margaret frowned. "Do you think maybe… she could have some help in this shop?"

David smiled and grabbed her hand. "Are you looking for a job?"

"Yeah. Part time, at least! I think I could be of great help here; she has to drive a delivery truck and sometimes the shop could be alone. And, I have a knack for flower arrangements. I love flowers…"

"You're hired." Emma smiled from behind her, making Mary Margaret her jump. "You start tomorrow morning at eight, we need five small gerbera center pieces for tomorrow evening. I can't really pay a lot but…"

"Oh it's fine, I just want to have something to do, and maybe make a new friend along the way."

Emma simply grinned and nodded.

After a few hours of passers and clients signing up for services, the door's detection bell rang and produced a handsome man with sunglasses and a dog.

"Oh, no…" David sighed to himself.

Emma made a beeline to the door. "Killian! Hi! Thanks for coming!"

The man smiled and gave a courteous nod as he showed her a bottle of wine. "I found the scent emanating from the shop quite alluring, Swan. Here…" He handed her the bottle. "Congratulations and all the best."

Emma took the gift from Killian's hands and smiled. "Thanks! Come on in!"

Killian followed Emma, aided by Smee, and quite a few people began to whisper and mumble. Emma frowned, seeing how some of the people appeared to know something about the handsome shop owner that she didn't know.

As they approached David and Mary Margaret, the towering blond male gulped.

"Hey guys! I'd like you to meet my neighbor from across the street, this is…"

"Killian Jones, a pleasure…" He held his hand out with a broad smile on his face .

Mary Margaret grinned and held her hand out sheepishly. David swallowed and shook his hand.

"Killian Jones, the guy who won two gold Olympic medals in a row?"

Emma and Mary Margaret shot their eyes at David. Killian grinned. "Aye, that would be me, mate. And you are…?"

"David Nolan. Emma's brother."

"I see. Or not. I don't see a bloody thing, actually." He laughed and shook David's hand heartily. "Pleasure."

Mary Margaret chuckled. "At least you have a sense of humor."

"Wait, wait… "Emma scorned. "You won… medals? Olympic medals?"

Killian chuckled and turned a cocky face to Emma. "Aye, love, does that surprise you?"

"Yeah, well, I…"

"It's the 'blind' thing, isn't it?" He nodded.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that I…"

"It's all right Swan. I wasn't always blind." He spoke patiently. "My brother and I raced single and double monohull dinghies for the U.K. for years. We were fortunate enough to qualify for the Summer Olympics, three times in a row. " He raised is prosthetic hand. "Till one day the dinghy decided to mutiny; the rigging broke, a rope severed my hand from the wrist, the sail flipped and the rudder turned counter wind, the vessel capsized and we were run over by another racing dinghy. My brother tried to get me out of the way. He took the full blow and it broke his neck. I was still hit hard on the head, hence…" He pointed his prosthetic hand in the general direction of his eyes. "…blind. And I was quite fortunate, actually." He gulped. "My brother died to save my life."

"Holy crap." Emma gulped. "I didn't know, I'm so sorry…."

"It's… tragic life story day today, isn't it?" Mary Margaret tried to grin but had a fresh sheen in her eyes.

"Oh it's quite all right miss, in many ways I see things far more clearly now that I am blind than I ever did when I had my eyesight. Not to worry." He grinned back at Mary Margaret. "Really."

"Well, three gold medals, man." David smiled."That's quite an impressive collection".

Killian nodded in positive agreement. "Aye, there's that! Plus, I have my shop, a steady income and a great backlog of memories."

Emma nodded with a grin. "Talk about a positive attitude."

The man removed his glasses and placed them in his pocket while Smee patiently waited sitting down beside him. "It's a necessity. For the longest time I struggled with darkness, so now that I lost my eyesight, I use the fact that I can't see the world to keep me motivated. Sometimes, positivity is all I have to keep me going."

"I hear ya." Emma nodded. She then looked around and smiled, breaking the eerie, uncomfortable silence. "Well! How's about I crack this wine open?"

"It's yours love, do as you will with it." Killian nodded.

Emma was followed by Mary Margaret while David continued talking to Killian. "Jesus, he's gorgeous!" Mary Margaret spoke under her breath. "Where the hell did you meet him?"

Emma sighed as she turned into the kitchenette, looking for a corkscrew. "About a year back, David and I were working on a case, and I saw the perp walk in here. I was tailing her. I noticed this place was still out for lease; I kind of liked the area, I was given a good deal, so…" She popped the wine open.

"So I suppose the fact that the owner looks like a Hugo Boss model has nothing to do with your choice location?" the brunette giggled.

Emma huffed and shrugged. "Honestly, no. I only saw Killian about a month before opening. He just arrives early with his dog and coffee in hand, opens the shop and closes down at around five."

"Maybe you lucked out. Is he married?"

Emma blushed and laughed awkwardly. "Erhm… I don't know, I don't think so, but… why, who cares?"

"I don't see any other shop owners or neighbors around whom you may have deliberately invited." She nudged Emma gently before turning to the cabinet. "Glasses?"

"Y... yeah, ok." Emma started pouring the wine in four glasses before looking up at Mary Margaret with a grin. "And what about you? Are you and my brother a thing now?"

"Well… I am kind of hoping, yeah." Mary Margaret turned a slight shade of pink that matched her buttoned cardigan. "He's a pretty neat guy."

"Yeah, he is." Emma smiled as she finished pouring. "I don't think I could have asked for a better brother if I had handpicked him myself." She took a glass to her lips and tasted the wine, then frowned and licked her lips. "Wow, this is good stuff!"

Mary Margaret took the bottle from her, and suddenly her expression changed to three round oh's. "Emma, this is a Chateau LaFitte!" She gasped. "This is a four thousand dollar wine!"

Emma nearly choked. "Are you kidding me?" She looked up at Mary Margaret as she took the bottle from her, and studied it. "How do you know?"

Mary Margaret grinned and shook her head. "My father, Leopold, was kind of a connoisseur. I've been a boozer since I was ten." She chuckled. "Then my stepmom came in and she too had a taste for good wine. Mostly apple wine. So I know a thing or two." She swiveled in her place a bit. "I don't know Emma, sounds to me like your sailor over there is trying to impress you. This is an 1865 harvest."

Emma shrugged. "He's blind, Mary Margaret. Maybe he just reached into his cellar and picked the first bottle he felt."

Mary Margaret winced. "I would think not. He may be blind but I don't think he's stupid." She looked back at Killian and then to Emma. "He doesn't look blind, though, does he?"

Emma took her glass and Killian's. "Head injury."

"Pretty eyes."

"Y…Yeah, I guess. Come on, let's join them or they'll think we're, you know… conspiring."

"Which we actually are." Mary Margaret followed.

The chat evolved as Killian told stories of his childhood, his brother and his love of sailing. David held his breath and prayed the name "Milah" would not emerge. He knew that sooner or later, he would have to tell Emma, but as long as Killian remained a friendly neighbor and nothing more than an occasional acquaintance, he was on safe terrain. Although, from the wide eyed dilated look in Emma's eyes, he somehow sensed things might not take too long to evolve into something… more complicated. And the guy may have been blind but he had is general gaze set in Emma's direction, grinning at every single thing she said. He may not have had his sight, but one guy with a crush knew when another guy was staring to show interest in a girl.

Things could very easily get sticky, fast.

K&E K&E K&E

"Hello?"

"Do you have what I wanted?"

"M… Mister Gold, I… I wasn't expecting your call till next week."

"And I wasn't expecting things to suddenly get as complicated as they have done. Now, have you got it?"

"No sir, those take a while to arrive. It's not easy to get access to private medical records."

"Regardless, I paid a fine sum for you to get that job done; I should have hired the people that worked for me before, had I known you'd be so tardy. They got me all I wanted fast, except the information on Killian Jones."

"You need to remember sir, Killian Jones has a bit of a high profile; his medical information is deemed as classified because of who he is, he's quite well known in the UK. Private institutions in England are difficult to bribe or crack…"

"His little stardom status is of no concern to me. Remember, my wife is dead because of that man. And I am not one to give up until he pays for what he did to her… and to me. Now, find what you need, or I will hire someone else's services. Is that clear?"

"I understand sir."

"Good. Then do your work."


	4. Good Life

**I'M GONNA GO BACK A BIT INTO THE PAST OF KILLIAN AND LIAM JONES HERE; DON'T BE SHOCKED TO HEAR THEY WERE A COUPLE OF MEDICI PRINCES, LOL. AS WELL AS DEALING WITH HOW MILAH MET KILLIAN AND FINALLY GET TO THE POINT WHERE EMMA HAS TO MAKE A MOVE. A BIT LONG, LOL. IT MIGHT GET A BIT EXPLICIT FROM THIS POINT ON, SO BE WARNED! I THANK THOSE WHO HAVE REVIEWED, FOLLOWED AND FAV'D AS WELL. YOU PEOPLE MAKE MY DAY BRIGHTER! HAPPY FRIDAY!**

 _Beijing, August 22_ _nd_ _, 2008._

Liam Jones rose from the sofa, one eyebrow raised and the other scorned tight over his left eye. If the empty champagne bottles that littered the lounge of the suite served as a clue to the previous evening's festivities (which he barely remembered after the first three glasses), it was safe to say that the feeling of a tiny man thundering a sledge hammer into the insides of his temples could easily be explained as a hell of a hangover. He groaned and winced at the faint light that was now bathing the room and was both shocked and pleased to find himself, still nude, amidst what looked like scattered naked and semi-naked bodies of at least four girls. One of them, he remembered; _Oh, yeah…_ _Tsan Langying… Chinese synchronized swim team leader. Spread eagled like a true athlete… so bendy. But… . Bloody hell, who are the others?... Is that… Jesus, did I shag the rest of the sodding team?_

Curse the champagne; this should have been a night to remember.

And where the hell was his little brother?

Liam stood up from the couch and groaned as he reached out for (what he believed were) his underpants, skipping over finely tuned female bodies, bottles and paper cups ( _no condoms, bleeding Christ, I've got to be more careful_ ), as he made his way to the bedroom door. Once clad in his boxers, he silently opened the door to find his younger brother in quite a similar scene to his own, except he had taken the bed. The dark skinned brunette that still had her hand pressed to his chest kind of looked like the Venezuelan Kayak girl who had struck bronze. The other two ladies looked like either volunteers or hostesses, one a porcelain white, black haired Chinese girl and the other a decidedly European-looking ginger with enough freckles to chart a sky map. Liam was pretty sure that the Chinese girl was the one who had given them their medals on the podium the day before. On the floor were clothes, tall glasses and Killian's UK representative uniform. However, both Killian's and Liam's gold medals sat perfectly folded atop the chest of drawers, together with the now withering floral bouquets, almost like a shrine to victory, and maybe to the youthful arrogance of success.

Liam grinned at the sight of their trophies; Second time over for them to hit gold in Olympic sailing. He felt like a rock star at that moment, especially in view of the previous night's dalliances that would have made Guns N' Roses proud. He then turned back to his brother.

"Killian?" Liam whispered as he shuffled through the scattered garments on the floor, "Brother, it's morning…" He reached the younger Jones and huffed. _You bloody handsome bastard_ , he though, as he gently shook him by the arm. "Killian, wake up."

Killian groaned and grunted as he blinked awake. "Sod off…"

"We have to go, mate."

"Go where, Liam? What's the bloody rush? Bugger off…." Killian rolled over to his side and nuzzled into the neck of the Venezuelan Kayak Girl. "It's not even morning yet…"

"Really?" Liam chuckled. "Well! Allow me to disembarrass you from that notion, Jones…" Liam paced to the window and violently opened the curtain, the sun blasting straight into Killian's face, as well as on all the girls'.

A collective groan was heard as bodies squirmed away from the sun.

"Wha… bloody hell Liam, what the hell is your problem?" A decidedly hung-over (and probably still a bit tipsy) Killian Jones shouted at him sitting up.

"You'd think I've discovered a vault of blood-sucking vampires, from the looks of you." Liam laughed. "Come on now son, it's nearly noon."

"Fuck you Liam."

"No thanks, I've had my fill of that for the next three weeks, and from the looks of it, so have you. Come on, brother." Liam collected Killian's clothes and threw them at him. "We've a press conference in an hour and we both look like we just came out of an opium den."

Killian ran a hand down his face and looked around him. "Liam?" He frowned. "This is not our room, where the bloody hell are we?"

"Who knows, Killian. Who cares. Come on now. Up you go."

Killian sighed and stepped out of bed, leg by leg, his whole vision spinning as the reality of an after-party headache sunk in together with the light. "Aye…" He moaned. "I need a bath. And some Advil."

Liam nodded with a giggle and stepped out of the room to look for his own clothing. Within minutes, the Chinese synchro-swim team was up and getting ready to leave, not without each of them leaving a parting gift for Liam in the form of deep open mouthed kisses. They giggled their way out the hall speaking in Cantonese and Liam wondered how the hell they had managed to communicate at all.

Like they had needed to.

Fifteen minutes later, the Brothers Jones were sneaking out of a hotel that was not their own, from a room they hadn't paid for and chances were they wouldn't at all. With their medals placed in their pockets, their wallets accounted for and with a still hammering pair of headaches, Liam and Killian Jones wished they had carried their sunglasses with them as they made way to their own hotel. After a very necessary glass of Alka Seltzer, a shower and a shave, the handsome, gold winning sailors made way to the press con, and no one there was able to notice the dark circles under their eyes or the redness in their eyeballs. The competition was over. They had won.

Again.

Killian, on his part, had two medals to his name; he was bold enough to sail the single handed dinghy and seemed to have a natural knack for it. Liam, in fact, was fairly sure that Killian was the stronger member of their duo, at least when it came to sailing.

Handsome, young, and drunk with success (and champagne), the two English brothers spent the rest of their days in China celebrating à la Jones; not long after, Liam landed a Rolex modeling stint and Killian was offered a sponsorship from Fila in exchange for a photo op. And a handsome pay.

Nothing could knock them from being on top of the world.

K&E K&E K&E

 _London, April 17, 2012_

"So, Mr. Jones, you have all you need, sir?" The shop keeper smiled as the handsome young sailor shook his head.

"That will be fine for now, mate." Killian smiled back. "The dinghies are ship shape and all set."

"Found a sponsor yet?"

"Not quite love, but…"

The sudden sound of a couple engaged in a brash argument drew the gazes of the athlete and the shop keeper. A man in what seemed to be his early fifties and his wife, a much younger brunette who was still at least ten years Killian's senior, were hard at it. The woman broke from the argument and stomped to the shop keeper with a huff. "Hello. I'm here for the Richie?"

"Your name please, m'am?"

"Milah Gold."

The man looked through his computer. "Ah yes, the bracket mount compass. Just came in this morning, love."

Killian grinned at the fiery, angry brunette, who looked uncomfortably at him over her shoulder. Then did a second take before addressing her angry gaze at the desk. "Well?"

"Yes, Mrs. Gold, I have it right here…" He produced the box from the cabinet behind him and placed it on his countertop. "That'll be… 26 pound and 25 pence love…"

She huffed and rummaged angrily through her wallet, before again turning to look at Killian with a scorn. "Erhm…" She looked back at the shop keeper. "Yes, I… I just recalled; My vessel has a few scratches. Do you have a coating or something we could take to cover them up?"

"I have a gallon of GelCoat by Presta. That should take care of it. What vessel do you own, m'am?"

"A Gemini Legacy; a catamaran."

Killian whistled and rolled his eyes as he turned to the counter.

Milah turned around and huffed at him. "Does that pose a problem to you, sir?"

Killian chuckled. "Not to me; that's just an expensive vessel to keep, is all. Personally, I never was too fond of catamarans. The double shaft slows the vessel down."

"And I suppose you know everything there is to know about it, then." Milah cackled sarcastically.

"Well, not quite 'everything', but I can hold my own." He smirked. "I've a couple of speed dinghies and my brother and I share the ownership of a Sunseeker San Remo. I personally enjoy the wind when sailing, but I suppose it's not everyone's cup of tea, eh, love?" It was plain to Milah that the handsome young man before him was either a cocky, _nouveau riche_ or some sort of aristocrat brat trying to gloat to get into her pants. Either way, the sight of him was a far cry from the man standing by the door, cane in hand, waiting for her with an angry scorn on his face.

"A San Remo?" She turned to him. "How fast does she go?"

He shrugged arrogantly. "The Swan is marked to go at a decent 30 knots… but if the water's not too choppy, I can get 45 out of her, no problem."

Milah grinned. "The Swan."

"She's currently marooned at my brother's place in Southampton. Quite the vessel. I mean, catamarans are lovely to, you know, float about a bit and sip a martini, but I personally have a penchant for making them cut the wind."

"Yes, well, you won't live long that way." She turned to the shop owner. "About that gel?"

"I'll go find it, ma'm. Be right back."

"You know what they say." Killian leaned an elbow on the counter and side-grinned at the woman. "Live fast, die young. Why would I want to slowly simmer through life when I can have a few moments of brash, unbarred excitement?"

Milla laughed. "You have a death wish, that's what you have."

The handsome young man laughed back. "Well not quite, milady, just an appetite for life in all its wonderful, colorful glory, is all." He held out his hand. "Killian Jones."

Milah lost her smile and her eyes widened. "Y… you're Killian Jones? As in the Brothers Jones? Sailing Gold medal winners?"

He nodded with a smirk and reached out for her hand, kissing her knuckles. "Aye. At your service milady."

The man at the back grinded his teeth.

Milah rolled her eyes a bit and then turned back to the young man. "So… Mr. Jones, will…"

"Killian. Please."

"Killian…" she smiled sheepishly. "Will you be… taking part in these Olympics? Here in London?"

"We shall, we've qualified. Alas…" He shrugged. "We're short two thousand pounds for the entry fee, we're still on the lookout."

She shook her head. "Why not sell your yatch?"

"Well, we thought of it, but you see, the fee alone cannot be paid by the contestant unless he or she is an independent representative; we need a sponsor."

Milah smiled fully. "Seems to me you found one, Killian." She rummaged through her wallet again and produced a card. "Here. Call me next week. My husband must fly to New York, see if he can actually close a business deal THIS once…" she sneered and then grinned again. "I'll have plenty of time to… talk. I'm sure we can come up with a fine arrangement."

Never one to turn down a pretty face (or an easy sponsor), Killian nodded and took the card and looked at her name. "Will Monday suit you well, Milah?"

"It will."

The awkward silence was broken by the shop keeper returning with Milah's wax. "Here we go ma'm."

"Oh… yeah. This, erhm…" she gave him her credit card. "What's the damage?"

"This will make it a total of ninety six and ten pence…"

Killian continued smirking and staring at Milah, trying hard to ignore the feeling of two rabid eyes burning through his back.

As soon as it was all paid for, Mila grinned, and gave Killian a friendly nod. "Well, I will be expecting your call, Killian."

"Count on it, love."

As she exited, Killian was able to hear the angry bickering again.

The shop keeper shook his head. "Cougar…"

Killian smirked smugly. "Never stopped me."

"Mr. Jones, that woman's family owns half the collection at the National Gallery." He shook his head. "And they are not the kind of people you'd like to mess with."

"Aw come on! It's a mere sponsorship! What harm could it do? Besides…" He shrugged as he took his bag of rigging bolts from the counter, placing a fifty pound note "…nothing in this life comes for free, old chap; Liam and I get a sponsor, and Milah, well… she gets what she deserves and quite obviously needs desperately, with a husband like that." He tapped his hand on the countertop and winked at the shop keeper. "Keep the change, mate."

If that day, Killian Jones had known that Milah Gold would turn his whole world upside down, that he would fall head over heels in love with his patron, that he would do anything to brighten her life from that dull, loveless marriage and that this choice of his would lead to such nefarious consequences, he might not have made that call the very following Monday.

If only he had known…

K&E K&E K&E

"Mr. Jones?"

The pain in his head was surpassed only by the pain stemming from his left hand, like a constant throb that seemed to take no prisoners.

"Hmmm…"

"Mr. Jones, can you hear me?"

"Wh… wh…?"

"You are in the hospital, Killian, you had an accident during one of the events."

"L… Liam…"

"Can you tell me your full name, please?"

"Wh…"

"Sir?"

"K… Killian Jones…"

"Where do you live, Killian?"

"Bloody h… hell… In… I live at… Seventeen Wimpole Street…." He turned his head slightly, wondering if he had or hadn't opened his eyes. "Wh… where's Liam, where's my brother?"

"Sir, listen to me." A man spoke sternly. "We need you to remain calm, you have been in a coma for two weeks now."

"Two weeks?" He grimaced. "But… how…"

"We understand you must be a bit confused now, sir… It'll come clear as you waken, but for now, take your time, it's all going to be ok."

Killian drifted back into a messy oblivion that included the nightmarish sound of water violently bubbling around his face, blood and pain. When he rose again, he found that he was still in a dark, dark place…"

"Killian?" Came a soft voice and the gentle touch of a hand on his own.

"M… Milah… Milah, my love…."

"Shhh, it's ok, darling…"

"What… what happened?"

"You're in the hospital, Killian. Your dinghy capsized and you were struck by another boat." She sobbed and caressed his cheek, now covered in a rough, sandy black stubble. "Oh, Killian, I don't know what I'd do if…"

"Milah…" He squeezed her hand and remained silent, deliberately attempting to open his eyes. _They must be swollen shut_.

After a minute long silence, he suddenly remembered his brother. "Milah… Milah…. Where is Liam? Where is my brother?"

Another sob. "Oh Killian…" She touched his hair and sniffed hard. "You have to be brave my love, he…. He…"

"No…"

"I am so sorry darling."

"NO!" He shouted loud. "Liam! LIAM!"

"Shh, love, try to… try to calm down, you need to rest. You… you're pretty banged up too. He saved you, Killian. But he didn't make it, my love, I am so, so sorry."

Tears streamed down his eyes; and he still wondered why the hell he wasn't able to open them to see her. Or why it was so dark.

It took him a few minutes to comprehend what was going on.

"Milah…" Killian sobbed in her embrace, "It's dark. What time is it?"

"What?"

"I can't see a bloody thing, love, where are we, the broom closet?"

He heard her gasp and run out. Soon enough, footsteps came back. "Mr Jones?"

"Who are you? Where am I? what the bloody hell is going on?"

The doctor looked at Milah and produced a little flashlight pen. He leaned over and Killian felt the man's fingers on his eye. He knew what he was doing. And he knew then.

"Oh, God…" The doctor spoke as he tried to get Killian's eye to follow the light in vain. "Mr. Jones, your eyes are wide open and it's noon. Can you see anything?"

For a moment, Killian could have sworn he stopped breathing. "N… no. No, it can't be noon, it's so bloody dark, I…" He heard a groan come from the doctor and it hit him like a ton of bricks over the head. "Oh god… oh GOD, I'm blind now, aren't I?" He reached up with his arms to his face "I'M FUCKING BLIND!"

As if that wasn't enough, his face immediately felt the absence of a left hand.

After a panic induced seizure, Killian Jones slipped back into unconsciousness, not to wake for another two days. When he did, a severe depression had set in and he only spoke of a desire to die, which Milah kindly curbed with tears and words over the following days. He was officially diagnosed as having Cortical Blindness, where the appearance and natural reflexes of his eyes were unaffected, but the signal of vision to the brain was completely impaired.

Dealing with Liam's loss was another matter altogether; Alone at home and still trying to cope with not seeing, Killian's life would have spiraled into a drunken death if Milah hadn't been there for him almost on a daily basis.

It took him three years to fully adapt; he soon picked up on Braille, and managed to sever all ties with his former glorious past and hobby. He talked about moving away from England and Milah connected him to a rental place in New York, where he could set up a nice shop to retire. Through constant therapy (both physical and emotional) and great effort, Killian thrived well enough. Sure enough, he was now blind and one handed, but that didn't quench his spirit; in the darkened veil of his lost eyesight, he began to see things through his nose, his ears and his fingers. Soon, he realized that in spite of having had it all, he had wasted many, many years through arrogance, alcohol and far too much sex. Many hearts had been left broken in his wake, and he knew it was probably Karma that had led him to his current state. But he still loved Milah, even though he knew she was still a married woman. His feelings for her were legitimate and true and he hoped that one day she would find the courage to take the next step and leave her husband. He settled down and enjoyed the moments when she could drop in for a visit. One of his late brother's friends, Regina Mills, a lawyer and major partner for a New York firm, had taken pity on him and had funded his shop's merchandise for him out of her own pocket, with a payment period of ten years.

Whenever Milah was in town, he would often enjoy her visitations; he was grateful that despite the fact that he was now visually impaired and handicapped, her love for him was still there. Their age difference didn't seem to affect either one of them. She was devoted to him, physically and mentally; and as far as he had been concerned, he had never before fallen in love with a woman, at least not quite like this. Sure, she was still married to the little man she often described to him (he had never really crossed paths with Mr. Gold at all; Milah was careful to avoid situations where they could mix), but it didn't seem to affect Milah's life too much when Killian finally asked her to leave him and file for divorce, so he could marry her. She said she would.

It wasn't until she died a month later that Killian pretty much gave up. His brother, his passion and now… his love, were gone.

But a year later, after the opening of the flower shop called Swan's Flower Lake, across the street from his business, he began to dream of a woman dressed in a white, flowing dress, hair long and blonde, smiling and whispering his name. It was a soothing dream.

K&EK&E

Mary Margaret jotted down as she held the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "So that's… three hundred and seventy nine for the white lilies…. Yes… delivered to 199 Bleeker… Guidetti…" She stood straight and paled. "Oh… the funeral home…." She fought to keep tears at bay. "Ok, of course… yeah, friday morning, count on it." She hung up the phone and Emma walked past her, carrying a pot of geraniums.

She frowned and grinned. "what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, I just…" Mary Margaret shrugged one shoulder and cleaned off the unshed tears from her eyes. "I just thought flowers were, you know, happy things…"

Emma chuckled. "Let me guess… funeral."

"Yeah."

Emma placed the pot down and dusted her hands as she walked over to her. "It's a part of life. What did they ask for?"

"Large bouquet of white lilies, anywhere between eight and ten."

"By when?"

"Friday evening."

"It's business, Mary Margaret. You just gotta see it as such or you'll lose your shit altogether. Trust me…" She huffed as she sat on the tall stool before the counter. "I've been there."

Mary Margaret nodded. "David told me about… that woman." She looked up into Emma's eyes. "She died a few days after you handed in all her information."

Emma pressed her lips hard and looked down. "I'd been doing this for a good ten years; at most, people would get a nice divorce settlement and we would get a fat paycheck. But she was strangled to death." She looked up to Mary Margaret. "No evidence linking him to her death was ever found, but both David and I are pretty sure her husband… our client… had something to do with it."

"No…" Mary Margaret gasped.

"Hmm… I can smell a rouse a mile away. Call it a superpower. We pretty much gave him all the information he needed. We served that dish nice and warm and right before his eyes." She gulped hard. "Thirty five thousand dollars. That was the price we charged for that woman's life."

"I am so sorry." Mary Margaret shook her head. "No wonder you guys left that business."

"You know, I used to think life had thrown its worst curves at me… but knowing a woman died because I…"

"No, NO!" Mary Margaret stopped her. "You did NOT cause her death. If it was her husband that did it the blood is in HIS hands, not yours. Thousands of people work as private investigators in New York, are they all to blame for whatever decisions their clients make afterwards?" She reached out and grabbed Emma's forearm. "It's not your fault, Emma."

The blonde rolled her eyes back up to Mary Margaret and smirked. "Want me to let you in on a little secret?"

"Sure…"

"Just before we finished our rec-con of her moves, that woman, her name was Milah Gold, she visited a shop. Wanna take a wild guess which shop that was?" She wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

Mary Margaret frowned for a few seconds and then widened her eyes in surprise. "Not… Mr. I'm-So-Handsome-and-charming-I-make-blind-the-new-sexy?"

"Yep."

"You don't suppose they had something going on, do you?"

Emma shrugged. "Who knows. I don't think so. I mean, she DID own a ship and the one time I followed her into his place she came out with a bag of goods, so… it's up for debate. I don't know." She shook her head. "She booked a salon appointment that day as well, but I never followed her. I went to have lunch with my brother."

"Is that why you picked this place? To maybe keep an eye out?"

"There's that. And I also got a good deal. How often to you find Central Park West shop rentals for just unde month?"

"Good point."

They remained silent for a few seconds when Emma sighed and stood straight. "I'm gonna go grab a bite for lunch. Get started on that arrangement, I'll deliver it myself on Friday, ok?"

"Sure!" The brunette smiled back. "Enjoy lunch! Where will you be going?"

Emma shrugged. "Erhm… I had thought Granny's and then…"

"Oh, I see." Mery Margaret winked at her and smiled. "Didn't you go eat lunch with him two days ago?"

"That one doesn't count. It was a favor." Emma moaned. "Henry told me that he was too tied up with some new items and that he was hungry and…"

"And a thirteen year old boy is playing matchmaker here, I see."

"Nothing's going on."

"Mh-hm. You keep saying that to yourself, Emma…"

The girl blushed a bit while Mary Margaret giggled, fiddling with a pen.

"Whatever." She gave Emma a mild nudge on the forearm. "Go get your lunch, I'll keep shop here. Take your time."

"Ok, thanks! See you in a bit!"

Mary Margaret went about looking for the vase, the wet oasis, the spray can and the right set of flowers. She was just about to get started when the bell over the door rang. She raised her head with a smile, but the imminent feeling of a cold chill that ran up and down her spine took the smile from her face. "H… Hi, can I help you?"

"Indeed, miss Blanchard…" He smiled, a gold tooth over his lower lip, longish hair and a cane on his right hand. "I heard an old employee of mine had set up business here and I was hoping to find her or her brother. Is Miss Swan around?"

"I'm afraid she went out for lunch. She will be back in one hour. Is there anything I can…?"

"No need. Just tell Miss Swan I came looking for her, I may still have something I need her to do."

Mary Margaret gulped. "Who… shall I say called?"

"Gold. Mr. Robert Gold. Thank you Miss Blanchard. Good day."

And away he waddled.

The time it took for Mary Margaret's goose bumps to recede was the exact same amount of time it took her to realize that this man knew her full name. And that he was probably the employer Emma had been talking about.

If so, he was the man Emma suspected had killed that woman, Milah.

She took to the computer and began searching for Milah Gold and her husband; when the search engine returned the images, she immediately called David.

K&E K&E K&E

"This is heavyyyy!" Henry groaned as he carried the large motorboat propeller engine.

"Need a hand?" Killian laughed from behind the counter, as he placed a large tin of grease over the rack. "Because I'm afraid it's all I got, one hand…"

Henry huffed as he placed the engine down on the corner. "No, I got it." He huffed with a bright sheen on his face. He looked up through the glass and saw a familiar figure approaching with a paper bag in her hand. "Hey captain, mermaid ahoy…"

Killian fidgeted nervously. "Oh, bloody hell.. erhm… How is she dressed, lad?"

"High heeled boots, blue denims, pretty tight, long grey pullover and a beanie."

Not three seconds later, the sound of the electric bell rang a loud ding dong as Emma swan came through the door. "Hello?"

"Over here, Swan." He called as he repeatedly ran his hand down his face and nose, checking to make sure no unwanted boogers stood out, and revising his own breath.

The smell of her perfume commingled with grilled cheese. He smiled as he heard her approach. "I sense it's lunch time, love. "

"I took the liberty of getting a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches from Granny's, just around the corner." She grinned. "And I have onion rings for Henry…"

The boy zoomed to her side. "Did I hear the magic words?"

Emma giggled. "Here you go kid." She handed him the foil-wrapped packet of goods. "Enjoy."

"Yessss… Thanks! " Henry smiled. "You should be a permanent asset here, Emma." He walked away as he unwrapped his onions and Emma was grateful Killian could not see her turn beet red.

As Emma produced the sandwiches, Killian smiled and leaned on the glass desk. "You really didn't have to, love."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to give me a three thousand dollar wine, either, buddy." She placed the sandwich before him. "These are no more than five bucks each."

"It's four."

"No, it's five, Granny's always…"

"I mean, four thousand. The wine."

Emma gulped and shook her head. "So… do you have a stash of those, or you're like, stupid rich and just trying not to show it, or…?"

That brought a legitimate laugh out of Killian. "No, Swan, I'm not rich. Not any more anyway. I just have a few leftovers from a glorious past, is all."

She smiled and took her hand to her forehead. "God, that was brash, I'm sorry."

"Hey, you are blunt and straight forward!" He stood straight and reached for his sandwich. "I actually like that in a lady. No beating around the bush, just… say it like it is." He took the sandwich and unwrapped it carefully.

"You really have that down, don't you?" She shrugged as she sunk her teeth into the greasy, delicious yellow sandwich.

He grinned. "It's not as bad as it seems after a while. You become used to it." He finally took the sandwich to his mouth and took a bite.

Blind or not, the expressions in his eyes could have fooled anyone into believing he had perfect eyesight. "Bloody Christ, this is good…" He spoke with a mouthful. "I must visit this 'Granny's' place sometime Swan."

"Yeah you should."

"And to what do I owe the honor? Not that I'm complaining, the company of a beautiful woman is always a welcome thing, but I do understand your friend is at the shop, why come here?"

 _Holy shit Emma, what now?_

"Well, to be honest, I… kinda wanted to ask you something."

"Just shoot."

"Like to… dinner… or something."

The suddenness almost made Killian choke on his sandwich. He recovered and swallowed as he flushed red with a smile, and unlike him, Emma delighted in seeing the pink shade on the tips of his ears. "Aren't I supposed to be the one to ask you out, then?"

"Maybe." She smiled as she unwrapped a bit more of her sandwich. "But to be honest, I didn't want to just… hope and wait to see if you were even remotely interested. I needed to find out."

Killian chewed and sighed as he swallowed. "I'm flattered…"

"Is that a no?"

"It's a 'how does this Friday become you, Swan'?" He smiled.

She gasped in disbelief. She did not expect him to agree so easily. "I… well, Friday is good, it's fine."

"Wonderful. Now, I get to plan the evening, you worry about transportation."

She chuckled. "Sure."

Killian grinned and for the first time in a long time, he desperately hated being blind. If Henry's depiction of the handsome woman who was now literally asking him out on a date were at all accurate, she was as beautiful as she was, as far as he could tell, kind.

As they enjoyed their sandwiches together (with Henry off in one corner doing inventory on rigging cleats and chowing down on the large order of Onion Rings Emma had strategically purchased for him), Killian and Emma conversed on various aspects of shop keeping, to keep it a bit more superficial and not think about the palpable fact that, despite his handicap and her brashness and that they had truly met only quite recently, there was a strong feeling of mutual attraction that was starting to brew between the two of them.


End file.
